


An Electrifying Cure

by Bobcatmoran



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, SCIENCE!, and dubious application thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobcatmoran/pseuds/Bobcatmoran
Summary: “I was thinking, if the frictional electricity can make one’s hair rise on end, perhaps it could coax your hair to…er…sprout, as it were.”





	An Electrifying Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in response to a request from Oilan for Joly and Bossuet shenanigans.

“…and Enjolras’  _face_ , did you see it when he realized?”

“No, no, even better was just before, when he noticed something was happening, and he kept smoothing down his hair—”

“—And then Courfeyrac would back off, and then he’d approach again with that rod with the — what did you call it again, Joly? Fictional electricity?”

“Frictional electricity.” Joly finessed the door to his room open, jiggling the key with one hand, lifting the latch with the other, and nudging the door with a knee in just the right place in a dance that Bossuet had yet to master. “Ah, that was a wonderful demonstration. I’ll have to ask Combeferre if he can lend me some of those writings by Faraday that he mentioned.”

“But do you really think Combeferre could’ve been right?” Bossuet asked. “About how electricity could be harnessed?”

“Well there are Leyden jars, so we can store it already. And it seems to be such a potent force, that if we could just control it better — why, it could be as revolutionary as when man tamed fire!”

“Could you cook with it, do you think? Electricity, I mean, not fire. I know you can cook with fire.”

“Erm,” Joly said, scrunching up his nose. “I tried that once. Didn’t go too well. Set the chicken on fire and lost my eyebrows.”

Bossuet reached up to cover Joly’s eyebrows, and gave him an appraising look. “No,” he decided. “Not a good look for you. You have that sort of face which requires eyebrows.”

Joly grinned and waggled his eyebrows in response. “Oh!” he said, whirling around and heading towards the cupboard by the stove. “Courfeyrac making Enjolras’ hair stand on end gave me an idea though.” He pulled out a wineglass, then headed over to his trunk and started rummaging thorough it. “I know I have a silk handkerchief in here somewhere…”

“The silk handkerchief I understand,” Bossuet said. “That’s what Combeferre was using, but he had a glass rod to rub the handkerchief against. What’s the wineglass for? Do you require extra fortification before committing science? Mind, I would not object to sharing in your preparations if that’s the plan.”

“If I’m correct,” Joly said, surrounded by a growing pile of linens, “the source of the electric reaction is not dependent on the forms of the objects, but the material. This was the most portable source of glass that I could think of here.”

“Ah. And you wish to duplicate Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s hair-raising experiment?”

“Mmm, in a way,” Joly said. “Behold, success!” He waved a white silk handkerchief in the air like a flag. “I was thinking, if the frictional electricity can make one’s hair rise on end, perhaps it could coax your hair to…er…sprout, as it were.”

“Rise right though my scalp, a veritable crop of hirsuteity?” Bossuet asked, rubbing his bald pate.

“That’s the general idea.”

“Hm,” Bossuet said. He looked back and forth, from the wineglass and handkerchief in Joly’s hands, to the hopeful look on his face. “Why not? I suppose it couldn’t do any more harm than some of the creams and tinctures I tried in the days of my misspent youth, when I first realized how rapidly my hairline was making its retreat.”

Joly grinned. “Sit down in that chair, and I’ll give it a try.”

Bossuet sat and listened to the odd squeaking noise caused by Joly rapidly rubbing the wineglass with the handkerchief.

“Did any of those hair-growing potions work?” Joly asked.

“Not a single success. One of them bleached my hair blond, though. Not even a good golden blond, like Enjolras has. More of a sort of musty color.”

“I think I like you better as a brunette,” Joly said.

“Partial brunette, anyhow.”

“And a very nice part it is. Now, hold still. This may feel a bit tingly.”

Bossuet obediently sat straight in the chair as Joly waved the wineglass over his head. “Augh, that tickles. Jolllly, how long are you going to —ow!” A tiny crackle could be heard as Bossuet received a shock.

“Sorry!” Joly exclaimed. “I don’t know how to keep it from doing that. Do you want to continue?”

“Yes, go ahead, by all means. I suppose one must suffer at least somewhat in order to experience a cure. ”

Joly continued to wave the glass above and around Bossuet’s head. “Do you feel anything?” Joly asked. “Does your hair feel like it’s growing?”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever noticed how my hair feels while it’s growing. So I suppose, since it doesn’t feel like anything in particular, yes, it does feel like my hair is growing.”

After a couple more shocks (two to Bossuet and one to Joly), Joly set the glass down on the table, and let out a snort of laughter.

“What?” Bossuet asked.

“I’m not sure if your hair is going to grow or not as a result of this treatment, but,” a squeak of laughter escaped him, “why don’t you go over and take a gander in the looking glass.”

Bossuet raised an eyebrow, then went to see his reflection. “Oh, my sweet sainted aunt.” His hair was all drifting in a cloud around his head. He grinned, then waved his hand around the edges of the floating strands, watching them bob slightly, as if touched by an unseen breeze. “This is amazing,” he said, transfixed. “It’s as though my remaining hair is trying to take flight.”

Joly, grinning even more widely than Bossuet, said, “It’s like a halo that’s gone slightly askew.”

“One that hasn’t quite made it above my head, but has instead settled slightly above my ears. The price to pay, I suppose, for a dissolute lifestyle.” Bossuet gingerly poked at some of his hair.

“I wish I had a way of capturing this image forever,” Joly said. He then reached up and around the halo and rubbed the top of Bossuet’s head.

“What are you doing?” Bossuet asked.

“Seeing if there’s any hair sprouting. Doesn’t seem to be, but it does take time for it to grow. We can check tomorrow morning to see if there’s stubble.”

“And if not, this has certainly been an evening to remember,” Bossuet said.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Afterword:**  Unsurprisingly, Joly’s treatment didn’t result in any additional hair growth, but over the course of his arbitrarily prescribed treatment period of once per night for a week, it did result in much amusement, particularly when, on the last night, Bossuet decided to trade places and infuse Joly’s hair with static electricity. They both agreed that the effect was even more spectacular with a full head of hair.


End file.
